


a plate of macarons

by sylvansalvia



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvansalvia/pseuds/sylvansalvia
Summary: Georgie met her at a cafe later that week. The evening was cold and clear, and a light breeze brushed Melanie’s bangs away from her forehead. The sky was shrouded in layers of light pollution, but whenever she glanced at Georgie, she felt strangely sure that she could look up and see the stars.“How’s work?” Georgie asked, smiling at her over a cup of green tea.“Terrible,” Melanie replied immediately.Georgie chuckled. Melanie tried to drag her eyes away from the curve of her smile, her raspberry lipstick, the curl of dark hair at the base of her neck. She hadn’t felt anything but that burning, beating anger for so long that the familiar ache of being just friends with Georgie was almost a relief.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	a plate of macarons

The night when the Flesh attacked the Institute, Melanie was carrying a knife in her purse. It wasn’t that she thought something would happen. It’s just that she paused by the door to the kitchen when she was about to head to work, and the knife glinted so beautifully in the fluorescent light. It was a carving knife with a large, cruel steel blade. She felt her pulse speed up when she looked at it, and wasn’t sure if the feeling in her stomach was nausea or elation. She could do serious damage with that knife. She could make something bleed.

One of her neighbors must have been playing music. There was a shrill flute and a rattling snare drumbeat echoing in from the distance, a song that inserted itself directly into her veins and twisted the thump of her heart to its beat. She tucked the knife into her purse, and the music seemed to fade.

On the train to work, with pure black hurtling past the windows, she checked to make sure it was still there. Past hand sanitizer and chapstick and official Ghost Hunt UK phone case, the gray blade reflected the lights flashing past one by one in the tunnel. It seemed to shine dully even when it should have been in shadow. Melanie felt her mouth twist into a smile, even as some part of her mind wondered desperately why the hell she was bringing a knife to work. It was insane. But it felt right.

Later, of course, Jared Hopworth and the other servants of the Flesh attacked, and Melanie knew she had been right to bring it. She was right, she was strong, and she had just saved Basira’s life. By the time everything was over, her blouse was soaked with dark, viscous blood and viscera, and her blade dripped onto the floor. She was standing in a hallway, somewhere in the Institute, and everything was still white bone and red flesh and sickly yellow-stained walls.

“Melanie,” Basira said.

Another drop of blood fell from the tip of her knife. Melanie liked the sound it made as it hit the floor. It tapped in sync with the drumbeat echoing from somewhere, the rattle and crash that she felt tingle in her fingertips.

“Melanie,” Basira said again. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Melanie said.

“I asked you if you were okay. You’re covered in blood. Melanie, are you listening to me?”

She wasn’t. Melanie was listening to the music, which crashed and crescendoed triumphantly, like the sound of shattered bits of bone raining down on linoleum. It was hard to listen to anything else. It was hard to tell the difference between feeling angry and feeling powerful, and right now her blood was shrieking both sensations joyfully into the night.

“You can’t walk home like that, you’ll get arrested,” Basira said. “Or worse, you’ll get attacked by something.”

Melanie turned the knife so the blade caught the thin, flickering light. “Good.”

“Melanie—”

Melanie slammed a fist against the nearest wall. Her hand banged a crater into it. Cracks spiraled outwards in the red-streaked paint. Basira jumped a little, and the long fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped. Her voice sounded ragged and raw. “I just saved your life, don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

“Okay,” Basira said, hands up placatingly. “You’re right. I don’t think we would have made it through that without you.”

“Damn straight.”

Basira sighed. Ever since the Unknowing, she had looked so tired. “Thank you, Melanie.”

Melanie nodded, and started to stomp away. The floor was slick with gore from the attack. As soon as she looked away from it, the music quieted a little. She stopped just before the door, and turned to look at Basira, who stood in the middle of the destruction, shoulders slumped, looking lost.

“Good night,” Melanie said. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

Melanie turned and walked out into the night. No one crossed her path on the way home. Part of her still felt relieved about that.

* * *

Georgie met her at a cafe later that week. The evening was cold and clear, and a light breeze brushed Melanie’s bangs away from her forehead. The sky was shrouded in layers of light pollution, but whenever she glanced at Georgie, she felt strangely sure that she could look up and see the stars.

“How’s work?” Georgie asked, smiling at her over a cup of green tea.

“Terrible,” Melanie replied immediately.

Georgie chuckled. Melanie tried to drag her eyes away from the curve of her smile, her raspberry lipstick, the curl of dark hair at the base of her neck. She hadn’t felt anything but that burning, beating anger for so long that the familiar ache of being just friends with Georgie was almost a relief.

“Your awful boss is in jail now,” Georgie said. “Shouldn’t that be a relief?”

“Oh, it is. I still think we should have just snapped his—” She trapped the remains of that sentence on the tip of her tongue. It didn’t feel right to talk about hurting things when Georgie was in the room.

“He does sound like an obnoxious supernatural piece of work,” Georgie said.

“He was, and I’m glad to be rid of him. I still think it’s just a temporary solution, though.” She sighed through her teeth. “I’m sorry, Georgie. I know you just wanted to hang out without all the talk about monsters. It’s just been— hard.”

“I know.”

Previous mugs had stained overlapping circles into the table’s teal surface. Melanie scrubbed at one with a fingernail, making the foam on her latte shake. Georgie watched her, looking gentle. The multicolored neon lights in the cafe window reflected in her eyes like fireworks.

“On a lighter note,” Georgie said, “have you tried the macarons here? They look really good.”

“I know. They’re really expensive, though.”

“Maybe someday we’ll try them,” Georgie said. “When you’re not being attacked by weird horrifying entities once a week.”

Melanie tasted something metallic. “Maybe someday.”

Georgie sighed. “Okay, something’s obviously bothering you. Is it Elias? The— you know, the Eye?”

“It’s just—” Melanie sighed. “It’s been months, Georgie, and Tim and Daisy are just gone. So is Jon. I don’t even know if the thing in the hospital is still him, I mean, Christ, it doesn’t have a heartbeat! I’m so scared, and I’m so angry, and I feel like I’m drowning all the time. The worst part is, I can’t even grieve for them. I can’t cry. I’m not sad. I just want to hurt something.”

Georgie squeezed Melanie’s hand, and suddenly everything was just a little too much. She yanked her hand away so hard the table shook, and a little of Georgie’s tea spilled. A flute seemed to shriek somewhere, or maybe that was just her chair scraping against the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Georgie said. “You’ve been going through a lot.”

“I—”

Melanie’s chair crashed down onto the reddish tile. She had stood up without thinking. Her palms itched, and the wound on her leg sent violent stabs of pain shooting all the way to her heart. She wanted to sit back down, to apologize, to take Georgie’s hand in hers. The flute was back, though, and it was getting louder in the back of her head.

“Melanie?” Georgie said softly.

She didn’t want someone to say she had been going through a lot. She wanted someone to stop her, to tell her that she didn’t have to fight anything, to hold her hands until she didn’t want to smash them into the windows and scatter glass across the asphalt outside. She hadn’t felt conflicted when the Flesh attacked, but she did now, in the cool twilight, across from this wonderful person who would never love her back. For a split second, she was terrified that she would never have cause to doubt the violence leaking into her bloodstream again. Georgie didn’t love her, Georgie wouldn’t be able to help her, and the fear and longing would scatter like smoke, and the anger would be her forever.

“Melanie!” Georgie said, and reached for her.

Melanie staggered backwards.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have to go,” Melanie said, and she ran, letting the cafe door bang into the wall behind her.

Later, she sat on the floor in her quiet apartment, with the kitchen knife resting on the counter above her. She wrapped her arms around her knees and whispered that she was right to be angry, after every horrible thing that had happened to her. She was right. She was right. She was right. It made her strong.

After a few hours, the ache in her leg didn’t feel so alien. It felt like a part of her, like something that had been boiling in her bloodstream since her birth.

* * *

Eventually, something that looked just like Jonathan Sims woke up and returned to its post, and Melanie finally had something to blame. She shouted at it when it tried to talk to her, and when it finally left her alone, her mind was a mess of furious static that blurred her vision and crowded out every sound but that high, shrieking flute.

Her phone was vibrating in her pocket. She pulled it out and tried to force her eyes to focus on it. Georgie. She answered without thinking.

“Hello?” Her own voice sounded thick and choked.

“Melanie,” Georgie said, breathing a static-filled sigh of relief. “I’m glad you picked up.”

“Georgie,” Melanie said weakly.

They had talked before then, of course. Every conversation felt oddly stilted, though, and the ache in Melanie’s leg was constant. She had talked to Georgie about the strange man who had been in Jon’s hospital room, and then she had talked to Basira about him, and she had been fine. Then she saw whatever Jon had become, and everything went red.

“Jon should be back at work by now,” Georgie said. “Be careful around him. Whatever he did to come back, whatever choice he made— it isn’t good.”

“That’s not Jon anymore,” Melanie hissed into the phone. “Even if it is still him, it’s all his fault.”

“Melanie—”

“All he has to do is listen to statements, and then what, he’s fine? Everyone else is dead, and nothing ever happens to him. He’s a monster, now, he’s just like Elias—”

“Melanie, this isn’t—”

“If he comes near me again, I swear to God I’ll kill him. I’ll cut his throat. I’ll watch him bleed out all over his damn tapes. I’ll watch the light go out of his horrible eyes.”

“Melanie, please, stop.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Melanie growled. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

“This isn’t you.”

“Don’t tell me who I am! This has been me for my entire life. This anger— this person— don’t you dare tell me this isn’t who I am, because this has been all I’ve had since the very beginning of my life.”

“Please—”

“I’m never taken seriously, I’m never close to anyone, so I have to be angry! This has to be me, because if it’s not, what else do I have?”

“Melanie—”

“Shut up. I can’t— I can’t listen to you.”

“Melanie, I lo—”

Melanie cut the connection and slammed her phone onto her desk so hard the screen shattered into a million sharp little lines. She stared at its cracked surface, breathing hard, and kept thinking about it when the Slaughter’s song kept her awake late into the night.

* * *

Much, much later, Melanie leaned against the brick wall of Georgie’s apartment building, watching red seep through the bandage she had hastily wrapped around her leg. She pressed the doorbell again, looking at the neat little label that said Georgina Barker in Georgie’s precise handwriting. Behind the door, she heard footsteps clatter down stairs, and then suddenly the door flew open and Georgie was there.

“Hi,” Melanie said weakly.

“Melanie,” Georgie said. “It’s the middle of the night. What’s—”

Melanie swayed a little in place. “I think I may have stabbed your ex-boyfriend.”

Georgie’s mouth fell open. “You’d better come inside.”

Once they made it upstairs, Melanie sat at Georgie’s kitchen table, bathed in warm light from a single lamp, pressing an old towel to her leg.

“Keep pressure on the wound,” Georgie said. “God. I can’t believe he did that.”

“I’m still angry,” Melanie said. “I never want to see him again. But he got the bullet out, and…”

Her voice slid into something desperate and broken, and her hand curled into a fist on the table. Georgie’s fingers twitched like she wanted to take her hand, but she stayed where she was, gazing sympathetically across the table. The lamplight turned her hair to gold at the edges.

“I’m sorry for what I said on the phone,” Melanie said, voice shaking.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s— I was so angry, I’m still angry, but now I feel so hollow. It’s cold, without that bullet telling me I was right.”

“I know. It must be hard.”

Georgie hesitated, and then she really did reach across the table and take Melanie’s hand. A little of the tension fell out of Melanie’s shoulders, then everything started to unravel and she cried harder than she had in years, with her shoulders shaking and teardrops hitting the table one after another.

“Hey,” Georgie said, “hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. You’re okay, I’ve got you.”

Melanie sobbed. Georgie stood abruptly, walked briskly to the other side of the table, and put her arms around her. They stayed that way for a long time, with Melanie’s face pressed into Georgie’s shoulder.

“I haven’t been able to cry for so long,” Melanie said, voice muffled.

Georgie held her tighter, her hands clenched into fists in Melanie’s hoodie. Melanie felt tears soak the front of Georgie’s t-shirt, and she felt safe for the first time in weeks. Georgie held her until her shoulders finally stopped trembling. Eventually, she sat up, and wiped her eyes. Everything that had been wiped away by the violence in her blood was back— grief, love, loneliness, embarrassment. Georgie smoothed Melanie’s hair away from her forehead, hesitated, then kissed her cheek with a touch like a hummingbird’s wings. Color seemed to burst back into Melanie’s life, until everything felt like the inside of a kaleidoscope, with delicate rainbow glass shifting and turning transparent in the sudden light.

“Can I stay here for the night?” Melanie asked.

Georgie smiled. “Stay as long as you need.”

* * *

“Georgie?”

“Yeah?”

Melanie shifted on the sofa. The Admiral meowed, disgruntled at being jostled, and moved to sit on Georgie’s lap instead. “Sorry about that time you called me and I hung up on you. When I was infected by the Slaughter.”

“What time— oh. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“What were you going to say?”

Georgie frowned. “When?”

“Right before I hung up. You were saying something.”

“Was I?” Georgie laughed uneasily. “Must not have been anything important.”

* * *

Melanie sat in the cafe window, listening to rain murmur in the gutters and tap on the roof. Outside, people hurried past under brightly colored umbrellas. Earlier that day, she had refused point-blank to do any more work for the Institute, even if she couldn’t quit, and the decision made her feel a little bit more free.

A ceramic plate of pistachio macarons plinked down on the table in front of her, and Georgie sat in the chair opposite her, grinning.

“I thought we might celebrate your recent decision to defy the horrifying entity using your workplace to rain terror on mankind,” she said. “Hence the macarons.”

Melanie didn’t think she had ever heard anyone say the phrase _hence the macarons_ before. She also thought she might be a little bit in love.

“They look great,” she said.

Georgie picked up a macaron and stuffed it in her mouth, beaming. “So how’ve you been? Besides work, I mean.”

Melanie opened her mouth. The world had slowed down. Despite the rain, the day was bright, and blue daylight suffused the room and sparkled off plates. On the table in front of them, a turquoise vase of sunflowers bloomed. Sunflowers had always reminded her of Georgie.

Georgie looked at her expectantly, waiting for a response. Her lipstick was ruby-red today, and the light reflecting off the petals of the sunflowers turned her skin to gold.

 _I love you,_ Melanie thought.

“I love you,” Melanie said, before she had finished processing the thought.

Georgie’s mouth fell open.

“Wait, shit,” Melanie said. “I didn’t mean to— hold on. What I meant to say—”

“Melanie,” Georgie said.

“I— yes?”

Georgie walked deliberately around the table, leaned down, and kissed her. Melanie leaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. A moment passed, in which fireworks burst into multicolored sparks in Melanie’s chest. Then Georgie pulled away and tucked a strand of hair behind Melanie’s ear.

“I love you too,” she said.

Outside, the rain had stopped, and drops fell like diamonds from the awning of the cafe. The streets were bright, and for the first time in a long time, Melanie felt like she could do more than survive.

**Author's Note:**

> melanie has been through so much and she deserves only the best


End file.
